My Bitter Confession
by Pyrobee
Summary: Suddenly my panic over revealing my secret turns into panic over covering it back up again. It’s been killing me for years, since before puberty, I think, because such feelings can’t possibly be chalked up to hormones. "I have...a confession." Cam


_Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly, which I've decided is the best show in existence. I've been reading Cam fics for quite a bit, been toying with the idea for a while, and here's my stab at it._

_Inspired by the L Word, Dashboard Confessional, Cam writers, and my own "desperation." You know what your name is. I had my confession long ago._

"You're going out with somebody and you didn't tell me?" Your voice is light and casual, like you're pretending you don't really mind, but your eyes are wide and I could see a hint of pain in them.

"He doesn't matter," I respond, tired, looking at you crouched on my windowsill like I'm surprised to see you when I know you're kind of prone to late night B and E. "I…I'm just…"

You climb in, still looking at me with those wide eyes, scrambling my thought process. "You're just what, Carls?" You sigh, letting your frustration be known. You're done with pretenses, I can tell. You never were good at them with me. "Where are you all the time? I can never find you anymore. And when I do, you always run away. I—"

"I'm sorry," I say quickly, sitting up and looking around, wishing I was at school or anywhere else instead of my room, where I can't escape. "Things are confusing."

"Like how?" you exclaim, immediately glancing at the door and tilting her head to listen for Spencer. No noise, so you continue. "Like confusing in the way that your _best friend_ has suddenly started hanging out with scumbags, leaving you to hang out with a dweeb named Fredward who won't stop complaining about missing _her_ when he can't even _compare_ to how you're feeling? Or confusing like finding out that your friend who's always had the big plans and big responsibility is suddenly losing to you, the lazy one, on stupid tests that you can't understand better than that nerd's stupid techno garble?" You nod at my surprised expression. "Yeah, I stole Mrs. Rodriguez's grade book."

"Why are you talking about Freddie so much?" I demand, slamming my hands down on the bed with decidedly unsatisfactory, soft impacts. "Maybe—maybe it has something to do with you two making out on my couch while I went to Groovy Smoothie!" You are silent, whiter, your lips pursed together and your eyes wider.

After a long, awkward silence, you whisper, "I didn't know you're gotten back so soon, or—"

"What does it matter?" I yell, not caring as much if I wake up Spencer. "You didn't tell me that either."

"That's because that dork really doesn't matter," you muttered, glancing at the door again, trying to shush me. "You, Carly, happen to care who you kiss, not to mention who you date. And you _always_ tell me, even if I say I don't wanna hear about it."

"Maybe I took pity—"

"Carly," you plead, sounding desperate, "I'm sorry. I'll never look at that dweeb again. Just stop…shutting me out! I can't stand it."

I'm the one who's silent this time, and you climb onto my bed, hesitating at my feet before crawling up to lay by my side while I lie back down, smiling a little hesitantly when I don't fight you. "I love you, Carls."

I can't help but look at you, your face so close, your eyes dancing from one of mine to the other, then back. "I didn't hook up with Erik. Well, I did, but not in the…relationship way."

You gape at me. "Carly Shay! That's not like you! That's more of a me thing. Please don't tell me I'm wearing off on you." You look so concerned that I can't help but smile, and your eyes squint back to reasonable size when you smile back.

"I was…really upset, Sam."

"Why?" Your brows furrow, then shoot up in surprise and horror at whatever you're thinking. "No…you can't…"

"What?" I ask, concerned, worried that you actually get it.

"You can't like Freddie!"

I laugh, more of relief than actually finding it funny, and you groan and shove at my shoulder. "Hey, don't make fun of me. It was a valid thought. You're acting like a jealous girlfr—"

And then you get it. Your eyes widen to dangerous proportions again, and I push back out of bed, stumbling backwards and nearly into the wall. You sit up, throwing your legs over the side quickly, then more slowly getting out and standing up, like I'm a cornered animal. Which, technically, I am, since I'm feeling really panicked and small, and I am in a corner. I push my hands back into the wall, then my back, like I'm hoping to sink right through it. Or maybe into it, because being stuck in a wall is a better fate than someone actually knowing my secret of secrets, especially the secret yourself, mouth gaping open and closed like either you can't decide what to say or you're trying to imitate a fish. I'm hoping fish…I don't want to really speak right now.

"Girlfriend," you finally splutter out, and it wasn't the best thing or most forgivable thing to say in this situation. "Carls…"

"Don't!" I choke out, and suddenly I'm crying, and we both hate it when I do that. I didn't even see those tears coming. "Oh my God, Sam…" I feel like throwing up, but I hold it back. That's the only thing that could make things worse. "You're—you're wrong!" I throw out desperately. "Whatever you think, it's—it's wrong!"

"Okay," you accept after a long second. Obviously, you're taking the easier route. You don't want to hurt me or yourself with the inevitable let-down. "All right, Carls, okay. Just…come back here and go to bed."

But I'm shaking my head. Suddenly my panic over revealing my secret turns into panic over covering it back up again. It's been killing me for years, since before puberty, maybe birth, I think, because such feelings can't possibly be chalked up to hormones. Maybe love is what makes us die, because surely something so strong must be felt from birth if we're all born to die, and only something so strong can possibly kill or—what the hell am I even thinking? My thoughts are jumping all around, but all I know is that I can't just let you let it go, even if you obviously don't want to hear it.

"I have…a confession."

_A/N: I wrote this while listening to This Bitter Pill by Dashboard Confessional over and over and after reading the similarly titled story from Iantos Hero. That's where I got my title. This was written in a frenzy late at night, so I apologize if it makes no sense or is a little strange. I just had some…strong feelings I needed to let out._


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